I don't know, I think that the eyes, I like eyes very much.

The eyes those silent tongues of love.

The eyes those silent tongues of Love.

Your eyes drink of me,
Love makes them shine,
Your eyes that lean
So close to mine.

We have long been lovers,
We know the range
Of each other's moods
And how they change;

But when we look
At each other so
Then we feel
How little we know;

The spirit eludes us,
Timid and free–
Can I ever know you
Or you know me?

Love’s tongue is in the eyes.

Oh, I don’t mean you’re handsome, not the way people think of handsome. Your face seems kind. But your eyes - they’re beautiful. They’re wild, crazy, like some animal peering out of a forest on fire.

Your eyes show the strength of your soul.

Du hast Diamanten und Perlen,
Hast alles, was Menschenbegehr,
Und hast die schönsten Augen –
Mein Liebchen, was willst du mehr?

Auf deine schönen Augen
Hab’ ich ein ganzes Heer
Von ewigen Liedern gedichtet –
Mein Liebchen, was willst du mehr?

Mit deinen schönen Augen
Hast du mich gequält so sehr,
Und hast mich zu Grunde gerichtet –
Mein Liebchen, was willst du mehr?

the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses

It has thine own dear playful look—
Thy smile! thy sun-bright hair!
Thy brow—so like a holy book
With sweet thoughts written there!
The full, soft lids, half-raised above
Those blue and dreamy eyes,
Within whose gaze of trusting love
No fear—no falsehood lies!
Like lonely lakes of Heaven's pure rain
Reflecting only Heaven again.

The eyes themselves were of that baffling protean gray which is never twice the same; which runs through many shades and colorings like intershot silk in sunshine; which is gray, dark and light, and greenish gray, and sometimes of the clear azure of the deep sea. They were eyes that masked the soul with a thousand guises, and that sometimes opened, at rare moments, and allowed it to rush up as though it were about to fare forth nakedly into the world on some wonderful adventure — eyes that could brood with the hopeless somberness of leaden skies; that could snap and crackle points of fire like those that sparkle from a whirling sword; that could grow chill as an arctic landscape, and yet again, that could warm and soften and be all adance with love-lights, intense and masculine, luring and compelling, which at the same time fascinate and dominate women till they surrender in a gladness of joy and of relief and sacrifice.

In your eyes,
The light, the heat.
In your eyes, I am complete.
In your eyes,
I see the doorway to a thousand churches.
In your eyes,
The resolution of all the fruitless searches.<p>In your eyes,
I see the light and the heat.
In your eyes,
Oh, I want to be that complete.
I want to touch the light, the heat I see in your eyes.

Your eyes, your eyes They tell me how much you care Ooh yes, you will always be My endless love.

"I like you; your eyes are full of language."

[Letter to Anne Clarke, July 3, 1964.]